Redemption
by luinrina
Summary: Felicity Giovanni lost her mother whilst on vacation in Italy. Nine years later, she returns, determined to figure out what happened, and about to face something she thought real in stories only. - OC and Volturi
1. Prologue

Disclaimer:  
I don't own any of the recognized characters or places — they all belong to Stephenie Meyer. I only claim the unknown characters to be of my own creation. Also, in no way am I associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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**Prologue**

It's been a perfect day, warm and sunny. The Italian sun couldn't have been more gracious with its warmth. My father and I spent the day at the beach, swimming, sunbathing, playing catch in the breakers, and building sandcastles; the perfect way to spend the summer vacation.

About two hours before dinnertime, we went back to our hotel room to shower and get dressed for the evening, then wait for Mom. She had gone on a day tour to see the old towns of the Tuscany and still her hunger for something historical. Dad said her bus was due to return at about seven, and I sat anxiously. I had missed my mother even though I had had a lot of fun with Dad at the beach.

But seven o'clock came and went, and Mom was still not back.

My eyes followed the hands of the clock for another ten minutes, but the door to the hotel room didn't open, and no one rapped against it. I didn't know whether Mom had a key, like Dad had, but she would at least knock, wouldn't she? She wouldn't wait and scare me just for her fun; that wasn't my mom.

Dad came out of the bathroom, drying his hair. He saw me sitting on the chair and asked, "What is it, hon?"

Finally, my eyes left the clock over the door. I looked at him, my eyes wide. "Mom's not back yet," I told him.

He frowned when he glanced at the clock. "It's not typical for her to be late," he mumbled, picking up his phone and speed-dialing Mom's cell. It rang — I could hear it from where I sat — once, twice, thrice . . .

But she never answered.

After the tenth ring, the voicemail switched on, and Dad left her a message, asking where she was, if the bus had a hold-up, and when she would be back with us. We would go down to dinner already, and she should find us there.

But Mom never called back.

And she never came.

Dad took me to bed at eleven. He didn't say it aloud, but I knew he had tried to call her cell a few times again when I hadn't been with him, without success. He had left new messages, his tone becoming more and more worried. I had never said anything, though, hadn't acknowledged I knew he had tried calling her.

I couldn't sleep that night, not for a long time. I stood up and looked out of the window. The day had been so perfect, only to fall into complete chaos when Mom failed to return from her day tour.

Outside, the sky was covered in thick, heavy and dark clouds. Rain was impending. The vast green of the landscape had changed to a miserable gray, and the tree in front of the window had lost its attraction. It looked like a skeleton. It had died.

Just like I had died.

That was when I started to cry.

Dad found me when he checked up on me an hour later before he went to bed himself. Mom had still not returned.

Rain splattered against the window, the drops thick and heavy. When looking outside, it looked like the sky was crying, the curtain of rain muting everything else into a dull blur. But, after that, I didn't see any more through my tears.

"She'll come back," Dad whispered, hugging me close. "She'll be back." Whether he wanted to soothe me or himself, I didn't quite know. I was soothed, however, at least for the moment.

--

The next day, we went into town, to the tourist company that had offered the tours. They couldn't tell us what had happened, however — they had simply closed, gone without a trace. Dad talked to a couple of people in the shops around, but no one knew anything. In the end, we went to the police. They promised to try everything humanly possible to find her, but couldn't promise when — if at all — they could report us the results.

A week later, Dad and I flew back home on our own. Our holidays were over, and we flew back without Mom.

She never came back to us.

That was nine years ago. I am now sixteen, and Dad and I are back in Cecina, Italy. We're not staying in the same hotel — the memories are too grave — but close to it, anyway. I talked Dad into returning to the place where Mom had left us, for that had been the only reasonable explanation we could come up with. But I am determined to find out the truth. I know my mom. She loved Dad, and she certainly loved me. Why would she run away with some stranger if she had us? There had to have been something else, and I would find out what.


	2. Felicity

Thanks to everyone for the great feedback. It makes me smile every time I receive an email that someone put my story to favourites or alert. So thank you, guys.

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– chapter one –

**Felicity**

Momentarily, I'm blinded. The room is painted in a light color that makes it hard to see when stepping through the door, more so because the sun is shining so brightly outside. I try blinking a few times while my eyes adjust to the dimmer light. "Welcome to the Caien Travel Agency," a female voice greets me in Italian, before I have regained total control of my eyesight.

"Thanks," I finally respond, looking at the light-haired woman. She is stunning, to say the least, her silky, gleaming hair loosely falling to the small of her back. "Do you speak English?" I know some Italian phrases, but not enough to lead an entire conversation in the language of my forefathers.

"Of course, Senora. Please, take a seat."

"Thanks." I pull the chair in front of her desk and she sits back behind it. "I'd like to do a day tour to get to know of some towns in the area."

"Then your choice in our agency is the best. We're specialized in day tours through the Tuscan towns. Depending on what historical or architectonical period you're interested in, we have several tours on offer."

I smile; that is exactly what I need. "I'm interested in various periods, historical, especially. Not so much modern times, but later Middle Ages to Renaissance are always great to see."

"I completely agree with you." The woman takes out a colorful leaflet with many pictures. "I just have the perfect tour for you, Senora." She flips the leaflet open and pushes it toward me. With a biro, she points to a map of sorts. "With the Arikin Tour, you'll travel through five towns while discovering seven historical periods." The tip of the biro runs along a small map, pointing out some village and town names that I don't even try to pronounce, certain that my tongue would find itself in a knot afterwards.

I look at the pictures. "Will there be chances to get out and walk through the towns to take photos?"

"Of course! Even though the tours are designed to be educating, they are still of a touristic nature, so you can enjoy your time and take as many pictures as you like."

"When you say 'educating', do you mean there will be a guide?" I query.

"Naturalmente."

Perfect. The tour is perfect. I would maybe find something out about Mom. "That's great." I look some more through the leaflet. "Is this here a tour bus?" I point to the photo of a group in front of a mini bus. It looks like about twenty people would fit into the vehicle.

The woman takes a short look. "Yes. We use mini busses for these tours. It creates a much more familiar atmosphere between guests and the guide, you know?" She smiles.

I nod. "Yes, that's good." There is no point in prolonging it. My decision is made. "So, how much is it?"

"That's fifty euros, Senora; lunch is not included," she answers, smiling more brightly. The woman is probably happy that she has another guest for one of her tours.

I open my bag and take out my purse to pay for the tour when I remember something else I needed to ask. "One more question: does it matter that I'm only sixteen? My dad's with me in Italy, but he's not interested in the day tour."

The woman probingly glances at me. "You look eighteen rather than sixteen," she comments. I blush and mumble my thanks while she already adds, "If your father is okay with you going to this tour . . ." She smiles again. "No one's going to ask for your age, so, as long as you don't openly declare yourself to still be underage, everything will just be fine."

"Thanks." I count out the amount and hand her the money. She takes it and slips a sheet over the desk.

"Please fill this one out. For the age, just add two years." She winks at me.

I don't make a comment. The age thing is a bit . . . odd, to say the least. They obviously are bound by law to have no one underage go on this tour without parental supervision, but the woman is letting me go anyway. Is what they are doing illegal? Is the tour I am going on dangerous? Did my mom know that, then willingly go herself, only to never return to her husband and daughter?

I mentally shake my head. I need to find out what happened nine years ago, and following my mom's last footsteps is only the beginning. I quickly fill out the form and hand it back. The woman puts her signature below it, and then our deal is perfect.

"The bus will collect you tomorrow morning at seven, in front of your hotel, Senora," she explains while seeing me to the door.

I nod my understanding. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Enjoy the tour."

--

I tell my dad I want to see the sunrise and that I would be up and gone early. I also tell him that, depending on how far I planned to walk, I would see him either at breakfast or later, at the pool or beach. He agrees, and thus nothing prevents me when I leave the hotel room at five to seven the following morning. I don't care for breakfast; I am nervous. Besides, I feel bad for lying and deceiving my father like I did. He doesn't deserve such treatment from the only family member he has left, especially after his mother died just last autumn after six years of a widow's life.

The bus picks me up at seven o'clock sharp. There is a handful of people in it already, all looking excited but a bit tired, too. I briefly wonder when they had been picked up before taking a seat in the front row, diagonally behind the driver.

The tour starts after we pick up a couple more people from other hotels. At the last stop, a young man gets on board, greeting us all in a warm timbre. I notice he speaks five languages fluently; that amazes me. I have never been good at learning languages, hoping that, with English, I would be okay everywhere on the world. Maybe that is wishful thinking; I should concentrate more on my studies in French to show at least some effort.

"You don't mind me being seated here, do you?"

I look up and at the dark eyes of the man. He looks at me, waiting for an answer. A quick glance around the bus shows it is otherwise full; the seat next to me the last one available.

"Oh, um, no, I mean, yes, no . . ." I blush. I feel like such an idiot. "Please, feel free."

"Grazie."

It feels odd, sitting next to him. He appears to still be really young. He can't be very much older than me, can he?

"Is it your first time in Italy?" he asks me, all of a sudden. He doesn't look at me, more straight ahead, but I can nonetheless discern that he every so often glances at me out of the corner of his eyes.

"No," I reply, slowly. "I've been to this country a couple of times already. My family is originally from Italy." I have no idea why I tell him that. It isn't important. "But it's only the second time that I'm in Tuscany."

"I see." He remains silent for several long moments, then grabs the microphone and starts telling the bus some interesting things about the village we are nearing now, Guardistallo, if I understand him correctly. I look out of the window, watching us get closer every minute. The ancient-looking ruins are breathtaking.

It is just past eight o'clock when we drive through the village's small streets and alleyways. The houses lean against the slopes or look out over the wine and olive trees terraces. There are only very few people up and about, for many are still asleep. Before leaving the village behind, we pass a tall clock tower.

As we drive further east, the sun rises behind us. The Tuscan landscape is dreamy and truly beautiful; I feel like I've come home. Smiling, I watch houses and villages pass by in the distance while the minibus seeks its way along the serpentines.

"It seems you're the youngest one on this tour," the guide comments as soon as the bus turns onto the SR68, shortly before Casino de Terra. "Usually, the people interested in tours like this are a bit older."

I shrug. "Does it bother you that I'm only eighteen?" I still have the words of the woman in the travel agency in my mind, once again wondering if _he_ already is of age.

His eyes meet mine straight on. They hold an expression that is hard to read. He looks disappointed, and maybe a bit livid, as well. I can't tell for his words grab my attention once more. "You look younger than eighteen."

What is it with Italians telling me how old I appear? "Well, thanks for the compliment," I spit back at him. "I am eighteen, whether you like it or not."

His expression doesn't change when he leans closer to whisper. "You better stop lying, or something disastrous will happen."

He never explains what he means with that statement.

When we leave the main street and pass through the village of Gello about five minutes later, a strange feeling starts building in my stomach. I look around; no one else seems worried. Instead, my fellow tourists are looking outside to admire the landscape or are chatting amiably with their seat neighbors. My eyes sweep the little rural village, while my brain is trying to remember the route the travel agent showed me. Gello wasn't on it. Then again, it is a small village. Would a tiny map like the one on the tour leaflet show all tiny habitations? _No_, my inner voice answers, _it wouldn't. Now stop worrying, and enjoy the day._ Nonetheless, I glance over at the guide, but he doesn't look in my direction. He looks to our left, the microphone in his hands once more while he provides information on the location.

About ten minutes later, I catch the guide staring at me. "What?" I ask.

He doesn't show any sign that he heard me, but his eyes are awake and aware. I can clearly see the light of consciousness in their dark. To be honest, his stare makes me a bit uncomfortable.

"What is it?" I repeat, hoping to get him to speak.

"You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago."

Um, what? My thoughts run wild. I haven't counted with something along that line. "Really?" is all I bring out.

The tiniest smile graces his lips before his expression returns to being indecipherable. "What's your name?" he queries.

I blink in surprise. "Felicity Giovanni," I answer.

He moves his lips, surely to quietly repeat my name, but it takes longer than I needed to reveal my identity to him. It makes me wonder what else he is saying, but I never hear him utter a sound. Only, when he looks away from me again, I think I pick up a whispered, "Nice."

The young man next to me is a riddle.

The bus stops in Montecatini Val di Cecina. The people are glad to get out, stretch their legs, or find a restroom. A few join the queue in the small café that is next to the church in the village's center. I'm still not hungry, so I wander around, the bus always in plain sight, until I reach the church. It is really beautiful. The sun lets the sandy colors of the stone gleam brightly, and the mosaic windows of God's home throw glittering patterns onto the street. I feel relaxed even though the behavior of the guide lets my thoughts run wild. I have also yet to learn his name.

"You should try to not catch the bus when we leave," a voice suddenly says into my ear; I jump in shock. My heart races, and I put my hand over it while trying to catch my breath.

When I turn around, I see the guide standing close to me, in the shadow of the alleyway. I am surprised that he would even attempt to speak to me again. "What? Why should I do that? How do you expect me to return to the hotel if I don't catch the bus?"

He throws me a long look, willing me to understand something, surely. But I don't get what he wants to tell me with his eyes. I have never been someone to read and correctly translate facial expressions.

"Just be late on purpose," he orders.

I open my mouth to respond, to demand to get answers on the topic of why he doesn't want me to join them on the rest of the trip. But he no longer looks at me, and his presence renders me speechless. His last words were spoken with an authority that makes it impossible for me not to obey him.

For now.

I make a non-committal sound and enter the church.

The building's interior is cool, opposite to the slowly awakening warmth outside. In a few hours, the sun will be blazing heat from a cloud-free azure sky. The cool air inside the church is momentarily refreshing. I sit in one of the benches and just look around, trying to not think of anything while admiring the biblical figures and scenes painted to the walls and ceiling. The plastering is so very detailed that I can hardly get enough of it. I've never been a fan of history the way Mom used to be, but I can easily understand why she was fascinated with past eras.

I decide to hit the restroom before going back to the bus. Would the guide order the bus to leave when everyone but me is there? My thoughts run wild. I am internally dying to know what his cryptic words meant, why he wants to get rid of me. A tiny voice in my head tells me to follow his order and stay behind. But I'm also afraid to be stuck in Montecatini without the means to get back. The cash I carry with me is not enough to afford a taxi — if there is something like a taxi accessible in this small village — back to the hotel, and I can't call Dad and ask him to pick me up. The thought of my father sends a wave of guilt through me. He is surely worrying about me, and I haven't brought my cell phone.

It is the thoughts about Dad that help me decide.

I hurry and finish in the restroom, then sprint back to the bus.

The guide stands next to the open bus door, in the shadow of the neighboring building. He frowns when I halt next to him, breathing faster from the physical exercise of running. For a moment, he simply stares at me, then sighs loudly. Grabbing my left upper arm tightly, he drags me into another alleyway, where he whirls me around. My back hits the wall. But, before I can muster the strength to push myself away from it, he leans forward, cornering me. His hands come to rest against the wall, over my shoulders.

"Now, explain why you can't follow the order." His tone is icy cold, and his eyes gleam with tightly suppressed anger.

I gulp down my slowly rising fear. He isn't going to hurt me, is he? _You're old enough not to be treated like a child_, my inner voice says, supporting my case.

Right. I can stand up to him.

"I'm not a child to be ordered around," I respond, my voice as steady as possible. I wonder briefly if I can fool him. Probably not, but trying never hurts.

His eyes narrow. "You _are_ underage."

"I'm eighteen."

His expression hardens even more. His face nears mine. "Don't lie to me, Felicity."

What the -? I shiver from the clearly audible threat in his words, and the way he emphasizes my name nourishes the feeling that something is wrong. But I've never backed down from anything. Some call me stubborn, but I say I'm determined.

"I am not lying." His dark eyes keep staring at mine. "And, even if I were, what's it to you?"

He growls — he actually growls! It's a rumbling coming from deep within his chest. I'm not completely sure if what I hear can be defined as growling, but it's like the sounds my friend's dog makes when he growls at strangers. It makes the guide's words and posture all the more threatening.

He leans even closer still, until his breath brushes over my jaw and ear. It's cool, and makes me shiver once again. "What is bad in wanting to protect you? Don't you have at least a little bit self-preservation?"

My eyes widen. Protect me? Self-preservation? Does he really think there's a serious threat waiting for me? _No_, my mind replies, approaching the situation logically detached, _he's not thinking there will be a threat. He _knows_ there is going to be one!_

I gulp.

"What is this all about?" I query, uneasiness spreading through me. "Will there be . . . casualties?" My voice wavers, threatening to leave me. I'm suddenly afraid, very much so.

He moves back a bit until our eyes meet once more. For a couple of moments, he remains silent. Then, he says, quietly but very clearly, "Yes."

Oh my God!

"Who?"

He doesn't need to reply — his face tells me enough.

"All of us?" I wonder why I need to phrase it as a question when the answer is clear in his eyes.

"Yes."

I gasp, panic rising within me. It's one thing to conclude something for myself, but another entirely to hear the conclusion confirmed verbally. Suddenly, there's a sobbing sound and a heart-breaking whimper. After a while, I realize that I am making the noises.

"Why?" A mere whisper.

His eyes soften before he closes them. "It's better if you don't know. You know too much already."

I don't think I do, but I'm not going to press it. There's something else I need to know. "Why are you telling me, and not the others?" I have no idea how I manage to stay calm enough to ask all of those questions. The fear should immobilize me and any thought that can be defined as coherent. But, somehow, I'm still able to ask him questions. "Because I remind you of someone?"

Our gazes meet again before he answers, "Yes. It's the only way. My one chance at redemption."

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Another update will follow approx. around 8 April as I'm going to be away from being online until then. So far, enjoy! I would love to get some more feedback in the meantime.


	3. Alec

Thank you, everyone, for the fantastic feedback. I haven't yet got around to answer the reviews, but I will do so within the next days most likely. Until then, happy reading with chapter two.

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– chapter two –

**Alec**

"_The bus will pick you up in the morning two days from now__, at seven o'clock."_

_The agent scribbles something on a paper with a flourish, then pushes it over the desk. She takes it and scribbles something as well. Then__, she smiles._

_In the back of the room, the door opens. The little bell over the door tingles softly and a warm breeze sweeps in. From outside, there is a murmur from the people walking by: excited voices, laughter, shouts of the merchants who advertise their goods. It's a perfect summer day._

"_May I introduce you? This fine young man will be your guide on Thursday," the agent says. She looks at him. He smiles curtly; they shake hands._

"_I'm looking forward to the tour," she says with enthusiasm._

"_I'm glad you do," the young man, the guide, replies. He looks down then. "Will she come with you?" he asks, a little frown appearing on his forehead._

_She follows his gaze and puts her hand on my hair, smiling fondly. "I would like to bring her, but she might not be interested in the tour . . ." She trails off._

_The young man doesn't avert his eyes. They have an odd color. "How old is she?" he queries, his tone rather sharp._

"_Seven." She frowns. "Would that be a problem?"_

"_You shouldn't bring her. The tour isn't for little children."_

"_Alec," the agent admonishes softly._

_There was a tiny moment of hesitation, but, before I could protest that I'm not a little child anymore, Mom says, "Okay, no problem. She can stay in the hotel with my husband."_

--

I stare at him. _Redemption? What does he have to redeem?_ I want to ask him about it, want to know what exactly he means by that. But the bus driver's calls tell us it's time to return to the bus; the tour is about to continue.

To what? Doom? Everyone's death? Maybe now that I know about the threat, I can do something to stop it, to rescue everyone from a fatal outcome of this tour. But how?

I don't know yet.

But I'm determined to find a way.

He pushes himself away, elegantly, but not before glaring at me again, silently daring me to not follow his order to stay behind. Well, two can play _that_ game. As soon as he's taken a few steps, I push myself off the wall — and follow him. The bus won't leave.

Not without me.

I anticipate the glare he sends me when I climb into the bus before him. I also anticipate the silence with which he punishes me. I can live with that even though I want to hear him speak again; his voice is a caress. But his silence is the prize I pay for trying to rescue twenty people from their deaths.

The journey continues up to Volterra. The town — famous in this region — rises on a hill in the distance. It's clearly visible in the bright Italian summer day. The walls glisten in the sun, and on top of the towers and roofs, banners fly in the wind. Their red is hypnotizing.

The archway through which we enter the town is dark, causing me to shiver. It's cool when out of the direct sun, and the change in temperature is palpable, even in the bus. For me, at least. I don't know if the other tourists feel what I feel. Then again, they don't know what I know.

The bus winds its way through the town's alleys until it reaches a parking lot a few yards from the main place, the Palazzo dei Priori. I can see it from where I get out of the bus; a stair in an alleyway leads up to it. A large clock tower rises above every other building in the vicinity. It's now close to ten o'clock.

"All right, you can walk around a bit, look into the shops or cafés," the guide says, when everyone is assembled. "We are scheduled to meet in front of the clock tower in half an hour. From there, we will go on a guided tour through the ancient villa of San Pietro which has been remodeled to a museum." The tourists murmur in excitement; then, slowly, little groups of two to four go their own ways. I act as if I belong to one of them, planning to continue on my own as soon as I'm out of sight, but the guide grabs my wrist before I can take a step. "You stay with me for a while," he whispers.

He holds onto me until no one is around anymore. The bus driver, too, has left. I am then dragged over to a corner, hidden deep in shadows where we won't be seen by anyone, not even if people were to look out of their windows.

"What problem do you have with understanding a threat when I clearly tell you there will be one?" he hisses, once again pushing me against a wall. He lets go of me then, and I turn around to face him.

I jut out my chin. "I don't believe there will be any danger," I say, bluffing. I'm very much afraid of what will happen, but I have to know more before I can come up with a plan to rescue everyone.

His nostrils flare and he growls again. This time, I'm certain it's growling. But how does he do that? No human can growl like a dog!

"You don't believe," he finally scoffs.

"No, I don't." His eyes narrow down to tiny slits. "So how about you tell me the truth why you don't want me to continue the tour I booked and paid for?" It was as grandfather used to say: Attack is the best form of defense.

He lifts his hand so fast I don't see the slap coming. His palm collides with my cheek, hard. I cry out, and hot tears spring into my eyes. I'm not entirely sure, but I think I even bit my tongue when my head swiveled around from the force of his slap. I try to blink back the tears and then glare at him, accusingly.

"That wasn't even hard, Felicity," he says. "If I had slapped you with all my power, I would have broken your neck." The way he speaks, so calm and composed — detached, even — makes it hard not to believe him.

"Why?" I whisper. "Why are you doing that?"

"I told you —"

"Yes, and? I still don't understand why you try to . . . _protect_ me when the safety of the other tourists seems to not bother you in the least."

He doesn't answer immediately. But when he does, he's vague again — not what I have aimed for. "What's it up to you anyway?"

It's clearly a rhetorical question, but I nonetheless respond. "You ask me to sit back and allow innocent people to die when I can prevent it?"

I know that he knows that I am being rhetorical, but he replies, "Yes."

"Wha—?"

"Besides, it's not your business."

I huff and cross my arms in front of my chest. "The possible death of innocent people is everyone's business, _Alec_."

The smile that forms on his lips upon my first words vanishes as soon as I speak his name out loud. The frown he sends my way is . . . frightening. "How do you know my name?" he asks in a sharp tone.

I bite my lip. Should I tell him? _Why not?_ my inner voice queries, in return. Yes, why not?

"I met you some years ago." My eyes are locked with his. "My mom booked a tour like this one. You entered the agency and asked how old the girl at her side was. Mom told you my age, and you asked her to not take me with her on the tour. She complied." There is something there, in his eyes, a flicker of recognition. But he seems to also search for something in my eyes; his stare is penetrating and slightly uncomfortable. "Mom never returned."

"And you are now here because . . ."

"Because I want to find out what happened to Mom nine years ago."

He sighs and closes his eyes, for the first time interrupting the connection of our gazes. "Did she ever return to your family?" he asks. I shake my head. "So it never occurred to you that she could be dead, and thus unable to ever return?" His eyes open again. His look is impassive.

I gulp down the tears; this is not going how I had imagined it to go. "She could have run away with someone else."

"And how did you intend to find her if she had run away with some stranger?"

I shrug, uncomfortable under his scrutinize. "I . . . don't know," I admit quietly.

Silence falls around us, only disrupted by his sudden and noisy sigh. He then puts his hands on either side of my face and kisses me, hard. I am shocked, surprised, and trying to fight him off, even though the little voice in my head shouts as loud as possible that this kiss was exactly what I want, that I feel attracted to him. And, really, the voice is right — as usual. But, still, I don't want to rush into something; I have always thought I would get to know a possible boyfriend before kissing him. I try to stop the kiss. But Alec — it feels strange to think of him by his name — seems to have inhuman strength, holding me still. It is he who finally breaks the kiss when I'm about to run out of air.

"Oh my . . ." I mumble, my cheeks flushing.

I feel his lips at my ear. "Just stay out of it. Keep away. Do it for me, Felicity." Then he is gone, just like that.

I stare at the spot he had been in, my fingers running along my lips. I can still remember the feel of his cool but silky lips on mine. He seems such an . . . expert in kissing. I wonder briefly if he has had many girlfriends, but quickly ban the thought; it's none of my business even if he has.

Glancing at my watch, I realize how much time has passed. It's close to half past ten; Alec will meet the other tourists in a few moments in front of the clock tower. And then what? Will he kill them all by himself? Will he wait with the murder until he's in the villa? Besides, how will he, one single person, kill about twenty adults? If he kills one, the other will notice and either run or try to stop him from killing another innocent. So that means he has other people to help him. How many? Twenty? Ten? Though, it doesn't really matter. One person dead is one too much.

I take a deep breath, then hurry on toward the Palazzo dei Priori.

The group is easily discernable. I stay hidden in the shadows, planning on following them. Alec mustn't see me before I can surprise him — with . . . whatever. I realize the faults in my plan — which isn't even a plan, yet — but it's too late to reconsider, because the group sets out. I suppress a curse and quickly follow them, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

The entrance to the villa is accessible from the palazzo. There's nobody there asking for an admission fee, so I keep behind corners, watching, trying to come up with a plan of how to save everyone. But my creativity deserts me. My mind draws a blank.

Alec leads them through a couple of rooms, telling them about the past of the villa, its architectonic specialties, and small stories about the artifacts that are shown in glass cabinets. The majority of the display consists of necklaces or rings, but, every so often, there are paintings, masks or mosaics that widen the range of objects shown. Probably the most eye-catching object is a set of jewels — gold and silver rings, earrings and necklaces, their filigree forms perfected with tiny and larger diamonds. It is amazing. From my hiding point, I'm staring at the cabinet for a long time, not listening to Alec's story behind these jewels.

"We're now entering the heart of the villa," Alec says when he leads everyone out of the jewel room. "The turret has been the villa's inhabitants' holy place, if you so want. There, they held the most spectacular dances and soirées. Please, just down there. You won't be disappointed."

The turret. So, this is it, then? This is the place where Alec plans to kill — murder! — the people? If he were to lock the turret so that no one could escape, then he won't need other people to help him. But, even if he has helpers, I need to hurry.

Silencing my steps as much as possible, I run after the group that has already turned to their left, walking down a hallway. I can hear their excited chatter. They have no idea that they are heading to their doom. I stop briefly behind a pillar and glance around it, but, in the next moment, I stand against the wall in the room I just crossed, Alec pressing his hand against my throat. The pressure isn't enough to cut me off the air supply, but it nonetheless freaks me out. My hands come up and grasp at his wrist, tugging at it to get him to move — but he doesn't budge. I can't move. Also, his skin is cold on mine, now flushed from the running. My eyes are wide, staring at his dark ones. There's only one chance to succeed now: I open my mouth to scream. But once again, he's faster, clamping his other hand over my mouth, muffling any sound. This time, the pressure increases, and I feel how he slowly pushes my head back against the wall. It's not hard enough to break my skull, but I can definitely feel the pain where my head is pressed against the stone.

"You seem to want to die, so why don't I make it easy for you and just break your neck? Then it's over, once and forever," he hisses angrily.

I try to shake my head frantically, try to signal him no. But I still can't move; his hold is unbreakable.

He steps closer until I can feel his breath on my face. "Then why can't you just do as I say and leave?" Had he noticed my attempt to say no? How?

Suddenly, he lets go of me, and I nearly sink onto my knees; my legs feel like jelly. I'm slightly dizzy.

"Get up and leave, now. Or it will be too late."

"It mustn't be," I try, weakly. "You don't have to kill them."

He smiles briefly, sadly. "You have no idea what must and mustn't be." He turns to leave. "Take a taxi and drive back to Cecina. Don't linger." He walks toward the hallway.

"Alec, I can't," I call after him.

He stops, sighs and turns back. "So your choose death over life?"

I shake my head and ball my hands to hide their trembles. "No, I — that's not what I mean."

"What do you mean, then?" I can hear the exasperation which he unsuccessfully tries to hide.

"I don't have enough money with me for a taxi . . ." I reply, meekly.

He rolls his eyes, walks back to me, pushes something into my trousers' pocket, and leaves again. "That should be enough. Keep the rest."

I glance down. It looks like he has put money into my pocket. I take it out, my eyes widening when I even the two bills out. "That's too much!" I say. He has given me a hundred euros! My head shoots up, but Alec is gone. I hurry after where I have last seen him, but the hallway is empty to either side. My eyes fall back down onto the bills. He gave me money to leave, so shouldn't I do as he wishes? He is trying to protect me, after all. But, about the others, he doesn't care; it doesn't bother him that he will kill them. _Yet it bothers him that he might kill you._ Why? Only because I remind him of someone from his past? Who?

I sigh deeply in frustration. What should I do now? Leave and save myself but live with the memory that I had allowed about twenty innocents be killed when I knew I could have saved them? Or go try and rescue these people's lives, only to maybe end up being killed myself?

The decision is an easy one. I will never live with the thought of people having died because I was too much of a coward to save them.

Now, where is the turret? I try to remember where the others went earlier, but I can't. My mind refuses to work properly. So I have to decide to either go left or right and then hope I chose the right direction. Closing my eyes, I count to five, then quickly turn around my own; when I open my eyes, I'm looking down the hallway. I decide to go in that direction and hurry on.

The hallway crosses another one after a few feet. I groan, at a loss of what to do now. Left or right? Or should I go back and try the other direction? I look around, try to listen for a sound of chatter or screams even. But . . . nothing. Everything is eerily silent.

My feet start moving on their own, leading me to the right. But I don't get far. A showcase catches my eye. It's another one displaying artifacts that glitter beautifully in the light that hangs directly above the showcase. But it's not the objects' beauty that catches my interest. It's the familiarity of one of the necklaces.

Slowly, I step closer, not once taking off my eyes of the jewelry. I gulp down the dread that rises with a vile taste in my throat. But I cannot deny the truth.

The necklace — delicate silver chains, three short pendulums hanging down, each pendulum's end containing a small azure-blue diamond — belonged to my mother.

I lift my hand as if to reach for it, but the glass of the showcase is in my way. For a brief moment, the thought of destroying the glass, taking my mother's wedding gift and then running, crosses my mind. But I'm not a thief. Instead, my memories lead me back nine years ago to the moment when I had last seen Mom. Had she worn the necklace when she went onto the tour? I can't remember. However, if she had, it would explain how this villa-museum came to it — if she really had died like the twenty people were about to be killed.

These thoughts bring me back to the reason why I'm in this place, and I look up, although it hurts me to leave behind my Mom's necklace. But I don't get far; in fact, I only manage to turn around.

"Seems like someone got lost," a tall-grown man with dark brown hair says matter-of-factly.

I freeze.

* * *

What will happen to Felicity? Stay tuned to find out! And feedback is love.


	4. Stregoni Benefici

Here we go with chapter three. Thanks for reading and reviewing! I love feedback.

* * *

– chapter three –

**Stregoni Benefici **

"I — I —" _Take a deep breath and calm down, Cita!_ my mind urges. "I'm not lost. I —"

"Standing alone in the hallway of a large villa without any other soul around, and you don't call that lost?" the man muses, a smile gracing around his lips. "Well, then, what would you say you're doing, then?"

I take a step backward; my back collides with the showcase. _Damn! No escape . . ._ "Um . . ." I begin, frantically trying to think of something while playing for time. "Well . . ."

"Let me define 'being lost' for you," another, still unknown voice suddenly says from slightly behind me. I jump in surprise, colliding once again with the showcase; the glass vibrates beneath my fingertips. "'Being lost' suggests a period of transition and uncertainty about arriving successfully at your next destination. You can also say that 'being lost' makes you feel uncertain regarding your place or direction. Would you disagree with that?"

"Um . . . no, but —"

The tall-grown man smiles openly now. "See? So you're lost, then."

I realize that I have no chance against the two of them, not when they are cornering me like that, physically as well as with words. And stuttering like an idiot is not helping my case, either. "I turned the wrong direction on my way out," I say, once more trying for an escape. There is something about the men that makes me tremble, that frightens me to the core. My inner voice shouts loudly at me to run; they are dangerous, and I will get hurt if I stay. But, even though I know that fleeing is the best course of action, I can't move. I'm rooted to the spot, frozen in fear. Maybe they are Alec's henchmen, I ponder. Shouldn't I, in that case, keep them distracted so that Alec can't kill the others so easily on his own?

The smaller of the men laughs briefly. "Losing your way counts as 'being lost' — you remember the part that went, 'uncertainty about arriving successfully at your next destination,' in the definition?" he asks. He then takes a step closer to me, his hand reaching out into my direction. It's a threatening gesture. "Definitions of phrases aside, though, there's more important things to take care of." His hand closes around my left upper arm, tightly. I cry out at the sudden pain, struggling to free myself. He doesn't care, and starts steering me down the hallway, in the direction he had come from. The tall man follows, quickly overtaking us until he walks in front of us, opening a door at the end of the hallway. I'm dragged into another, smaller hallway that opens to a large round chamber. The roof of the room vanishes far above me, light falling in through large windows halfway up the turret.

I immediately realize that this is the turret Alec talked about — all the other tourists are there, talking animatedly and taking photos. They are surrounded by other people wearing clothes in black or varying shades of gray.

On my and the men's entrance, everyone turns around to face us. My eyes lock with Alec's, who grounds his jaw, his expression darkening before turning impassive again. In comparison, my expression must be one of terror; it feels like it. This impression deepens when the other tourists start to mumble, their formerly excited chatter turning to questioning and a couple of fearful murmurs, too.

"Someone got lost," the large man says, while the smaller one lets go of me, pushing me in the direction of the other tourists. I stumble forward, barely managing to stay upright.

"I see," a new voice says. It's soft, more like a gentle breeze in the wind — or a sigh. "Anyone else . . . missing?" I look up in time to see one of the black-clad men look pointedly at Alec.

"No, Master."

Master? Have I heard that correctly?

"I see," the black-clad man says again. He puts the fingertips together, holding his hands like a pyramid in front of him. "Why was she lost in the first place?" And then he holds out a hand in greeting.

Now I am truly lost. Both the man and Alec are in the same room; they haven't moved — much — so why does the man want Alec to shake his hand? My eyes wander over to Alec, who stands still for a moment, then closes the short distance, grasping the man's hand. The contact is brief, but I can't lose the feeling that, in this short moment, the man learns something important. But how?

"I see," the man says, for the third time. However, this time, his tone is sharper, colder, sounding more like a reprimand than a soft statement. Slowly, the man turns around to me. His face has lost all friendliness. "Felix, bring the girl."

The tall-grown man grabs my upper arm and drags me over to the man. If Felix follows his orders without questioning, maybe he truly is some sort of master. Of a sect? An underground rebellion group? Do they want us as recruits?

The master's cold hands take mine, letting them go again the next moment. He frowns, his eyes holding mine, searching something. He then glances back at Alec, looking thoughtful.

"Aro, whatever it is, can't it wait?" a man with snowy-white hair complains.

The master — Aro, my mind corrected — holds up a hand. "Give me a moment, Caius. This is important."

"Take the moment later. I waited long enough," Caius replies, standing up.

Aro sighs; it is the gentle breeze of wind again. "Fine." He looks at me, then at Felix, whose vice-like grip still holds me captive and brings tears to my eyes, then to Alec. "Since it _is_ kind of your fault, you'll make sure she . . . stays with us until afterward." He holds Alec's gaze a moment longer before turning his attention toward the tourists.

Felix pushes me forward and lets go of me. I collide with Alec; his body is hard! It feels like stumbling into a rock. Before I can do anything, he swiftly turns me around, capturing my hands behind my back. I feel his breath in my neck; it sends shivers down my spine, added by the coolness of his skin.

A girl that looks similar to Alec makes her way over to us. She looks me up and down, her eyes thoughtful. "You don't really think that, do you?" she asks. Her voice is as sweet as honey.

"That's not relevant now, is it?" Alec asks quietly.

"No, I suppose not," she replies loftily before walking back over to Aro. Alec sighs.

I try to make sense of their conversation, but I can't. Instead, my mind focuses on Aro, who — I suppose — is the most dangerous of all. He lets himself be called master, so he is a superior to Alec. I then remember that Alec's clothes are a dark gray, whereas Aro's is obviously black. Does this mean that the darker the color, the higher up the rank? Maybe they _are_ militia trying to recruit for a putsch? Then again, Alec clearly told me that he is going to kill people. I can therefore scratch recruiting from my list.

The snowy-white-haired man, Caius, enters my field of vision. He, too, and the woman at his side, wear deep black, though the three people surrounding the two are clad in lighter shades of gray. I suppose their ranks are lower than Alec's then. Felix and the smaller man seem to be higher in position, but still below Alec. The girl he spoke to wears the same color Alec has, so she is his equal. I have to admit, even though I should be shivering heavily with panic, I'm fascinated by the hierarchy and the way they display it through colors.

That changes quickly.

Suddenly, the screaming starts, echoing around the turret chamber. I try to see what is happening, but everyone starts moving so fast they're blurring. It reminds me of when Alec was in my face without my having seen him coming. How is it possible that people can move so quickly? Then my eye catches Felix, towering over one of the men, his grip on the tourist's arms hurting me even as I watch; I'm glad I'm not in the man's stead. With a clarity I would have never thought I possessed, I see Felix lean down over the struggling and kicking man's neck and then bite down. The man screams loudly, intensifying his struggles — to no avail. Instead, I hear bones crack where Felix's grip gets too strong. The man's breathing grows weaker, then subsides completely. When Felix lets go of the man, the body falls limply onto the floor. I can then clearly see the shape of teeth in a bloodied wound. My eyes wander up to Felix' — his have turned from dark, nearly black, to a bright ruby.

I suck in a deep breath. My eyes race over to Aro, Caius, the smaller man, the girl — all of their eyes have turned from dark to ruby. Lifeless bodies lie at their feet, all of the twenty tourists killed in less than five minutes.

The shivers return, and I tremble powerfully in Alec's hold. A horrible sound reaches my ear; I am crying and sobbing wildly. My vision blurs, but I don't care. These people kill brutally by drinking blood. Their eyes change their color once they 'fed' on innocents. There's only one creature I know to be able to do that.

A vampire.

_It's only legends!_ my logic screams. _It's only mysteries! Vampires don't exist!_

But, obviously, they do.

Through the veil of my tears, I see Aro look over to me. His eyes are frantic, like he is in some sort of frenzy. Slowly, he steps into my direction. Alec suddenly hisses and backs away, taking me with him. His free hand comes up and lies itself onto my throat, seemingly covering it — there is no palpable pressure in the action. Why? My eyes are still locked onto Aro. His advance has stopped, and he looks away. I follow his movements with my eyes when he walks over to one of the chairs that stand in the back.

No one speaks for long moments, the silence more ominous after the screams. The echoes have already subsided; my sobs, sniffles and occasional hiccups are the only source of noise in the room.

The vampires linger against the walls, some crouching, some sitting, others standing. No one is looking in my direction, but every single one's body is tense — like Alec behind me. I can literally feel his muscles flex beneath his skin, making it hard for him not to put pressure onto my throat. But he doesn't move an inch. It feels like he's wary of his friends, as if they will strike and kill me, too, when he isn't watchful.

I have no idea how much time has passed when one after the other relaxes. Felix and his companion quickly move to the dead bodies and start taking them out. Their actions happen in silence, and they happen quickly. I can only watch, enthralled.

"I have to apologize for that scene," Aro starts speaking calmly when the chamber has been cleared of the bodies. "Usually, no human is living long enough to witness something like that." He smiles ruefully, but I can hear that the remorse in his words and body language is only a fake. Why? Does he not bother leaving me with the right impression when I go? _You really think they let you leave this place after you saw what they did?_ my mind asks sarcastically.

Probably not.

I try to bring more distance between Aro and myself, temporarily forgetting I'm still held locked by Alec's steel-hard grip. When my back comes into contact with his body, however, his fingers' pressure on my throat and wrists tightens slightly. I stiffen.

Caius, who has been standing the entire time, saunters over to Alec and me. I feel Alec prepare for another step back, but Aro's order of "No need to move, Alec," renders him immobile. Aro's tone reminds me that he seemed to have been angry with Alec earlier. I then also realize that he holding me captive is his punishment: he hasn't fed like the other vampires, and his eyes have been as dark as Felix' for instance. So he must be hungry.

Wait. Maybe Aro intends me to be Alec's meal once he is through with whatever he wants to talk about first!

Oh God.

"She smells good," Caius comments, vanishing from my field of vision. I hear him walk around Alec and me, reappearing on my other side. "How can you stand being near to her, Alec?" he asks with interest.

"It's my task to keep her unharmed until _afterward_," Alec says, repeating Aro's order from before the vampires started killing the innocent tourists. "Everything else doesn't matter."

"And at least _that_ job you did well," Aro interjects, getting up and coming over to stand next to Caius. "Release her."

Suddenly, I am free, but I don't move. I feel how Alec steps away from me and follow him — or that's what I plan to do, in theory. In practice, I still stand rooted to the spot where he released me.

"And now, wouldn't it be _delightful_ to hear what caused her to get lost when our other guests were punctual, Alec?" Aro asks. Caius rolls his eyes and saunters back to where the woman stands next to one of the three chairs.

"I'm sorry, Master," Alec says quietly.

Aro sighs. "You have no idea how disappointed I am with you, Alec."

"Would someone care to fill us in here?" Caius interrupts.

Aro snips his fingers toward Alec, who starts to tell about today. He doesn't leave out a single detail; he even recounts our kiss. I blush under the vampires' scrutiny while Alec still speaks. His voice — even while admitting his mistakes — is soft and gentle. I wonder what they plan to do to him once he finishes.

"I see what you mean with the girl reminding you of . . . _her_," the girl looking similar to Alec says. I haven't noticed her coming over to stand next to Aro. "She has the same eyes." I don't trust myself to look up and meet the girl's gaze. "But she has nothing on Sarah," she concludes sharply.

Aro chuckles. "Dear Jane, don't fret with your brother. Romantic feelings are hard to overcome." She's Alec's sister?

Jane huffs, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Sarah, at least, had charm. This girl here has nothing. She's boring."

"Sorry that I'm not Sarah. If you were to tell me about her, I could try to be like her, though, you know?" I blurt out, then bite my lip. _You stupid girl! What did you do?_

Jane's face darkens, her eyes narrowing to slits. She hisses at me. Aro starts laughing loudly. I glance over to Alec next to me, and he tries — unsuccessfully — to hide a small smile. "She certainly has fire," Aro says appreciatively. Jane comments on his words with a growl. Aro pats her shoulder.

"That's still irrelevant, considering that she knows too much," Caius interjects from his place.

Aro nods and sighs. "True."

"Who would believe me if I were to tell anyone about what happened today?" I say, fighting to stay alive. "You're considered a myth only, anyway." My hands tremble so I ball them into fists.

Aro looks at me, considering something. "I would like to know something, Felicity," he begins. "Why didn't you run the way Alec asked you to several times?"

I stare at him in disbelief. "You seriously think that I run to save my own life when twenty others are about to die and I know it? You must be nuts."

Growls and sharp intakes of breath resound through the room, and I'm suddenly pressed against a wall, my breath cut off with a cold hand tightening around my throat. I struggle, tugging on my captor's arms, but he doesn't let go. Instead, his grip tightens; my vision starts blurring.

"Felix, let her down," Aro demands gently. "She was just being honest, and I appreciate that."

The giant Felix adds some more pressure before releasing me. I sink down onto the floor, making a huddle of myself, coughing and rubbing my throat. Felix doesn't step aside, throwing his shadow over me.

"Still. No one can be _that_ selfless, to want to die in the place of someone else they don't even know."

I shake my head. "Maybe you don't know enough people, then." Something inside me clicks, making me braver than I really felt. "Right, you don't have time to get to know people. You kill them."

Aro laughs. "I like your wit," he mumbles, smiling in something like fondness.

"Aro," Caius says — a reminder.

"Peace, brother," Aro replies, not looking at the other vampire. His eyes are still latched onto my own. "But why did you go onto this tour in the first place? Architectonical history can't be that . . . interesting."

I remember the many stories Mom told me with an enthusiasm that was infectious. "Maybe to you who lives so long, the fascination is lost, as you surely got to experience it first-hand," I reply. "But I'm not like you. I'm not a . . . vampire." Something in the atmosphere of the room changes upon me speaking that word, but my only chance to survive — if there is one — is to continue. "I'm only a sixteen-year-old girl" — no need for lies now — "that is looking at the past, wondering how things got constructed, got built."

Aro tilts his head. "Your words speak as if from a bright mind. Go on."

"My wish is to learn, to not repeat mistakes that have been made in long since gone years. And to learn the truth behind lies." I know that I'm entering dangerous areas, but I can't stop — not before I say everything that needs to be said. "And maybe to discover past crimes."

A growl rolls through Felix' chest; it's frightening. But I don't look up at him, instead holding onto Aro's gaze. His expression is unreadable.

From the other side of the chamber I can hear someone clapping — it's sarcastic. "I think we've found ourselves a priest," Caius comments. Several of the vampires chuckle.

Aro isn't perturbed by his brother's behavior. "What kind of crimes are you talking about?" His voice is quiet, gentle. But my inner voice urges me to be cautious now, more than ever. One wrong word, and it'll be over.

I gulp down my nervousness, keeping my head held high. I have some pride after all. "I would think that . . . taking the life of innocent people is testified as murder in Italy, as well as in the US."

There's a flicker in Aro's ruby eyes, one that I can't interpret. "Is someone accusing us of murder?" he asks politely.

"No —"

"Are _you_ accusing us of murder?"

_Careful . . ._

"Hmm?" he gauges when I don't answer. "Are you accusing us, Felicity?"

I'm trembling again and finally look away. "Yes."

The silence that presses onto me feels like foreboding my death.

* * *

What will happen to Felicity? Stay tuned for the final chapter.


	5. Truth

My sincerest apologies for that incredible delay in uploading the last chapter. RL hasn't been kind to me in the last weeks so writing and publishing stories had to suffer. I hope you enjoy this last chapter.

Many thanks to all readers and reviewers. If I haven't answered a review personally, my apologies. However, know that I'm grateful for every single bit of feedback I received, including email notifications that Redemption was added to story alerts or as favorite stories. Thank you!

And now, long story made short: Enjoy the final chapter!

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– chapter four –

**A Little Bit Truth Behind Every Legend Lies**

"So, what shall we do with you now?" Aro asks quietly after some long, antagonizing moments, sounding like he is pondering that question for real — as if he doesn't already know what he's going to do with me.

I glance up again, shyly, and notice that Jane's face has changed. She doesn't look mad at me anymore. Well, no, not really. There is still anger in her features, but it is mixed with some incredulity — and, to a certain extent, awe. But I can't be sure, about the latter, especially. So I have to fight on my own.

"How about you let me go? I'll sign a . . . a non-disclosure contract, or something, if it makes you feel sure that I won't talk," I offer. I hear my voice waver in uncertainty, but I mustn't appear weak now.

The vampires chuckle again; the sound and sight is slightly unnerving.

"I'm afraid we can't have that," Aro says slowly. "It's not that you wouldn't sign, Felicity, but we can't let anyone who has seen and heard so much as you leave this place. Try to understand our position."

But I can't. I start trembling again, shaking my head. They . . . they can't just kill me like this! I scramble backward, away from them, but I have forgotten that I'm still sitting next to the wall already. There is nowhere else to crawl.

Aro looks at me a while longer, then he sighs. "It's a pity," he murmurs. His fingers snip at Alec. "She's yours."

So my impression was correct. Alec is to kill me, as his punishment, but, at the same time, the aim is to nourish him with my blood after he didn't feed with the others.

Felix pulls me up and pushes me against Alec, who corners me against the wall, his hands and body holding me captive. I can't even struggle; it wouldn't do any good anyway.

"I'm sorry," he breathes into my ear as he leans down, sweeping my hair off my neck, exposing it to his teeth. I whimper and close my eyes, waiting for the end to come.

It comes quickly.

His teeth are sharp, razor-sharp, and I feel them cut through my skin easily. It hurts so much! I cry out, try to wiggle away. But my movement makes Alec's teeth cut deeper, making the wound larger. I feel his cool lips against my throat, feel him suck out my blood. I futilely tug on his clothes, but I feel like not only my blood is getting sucked out but my entire life force. I feel weaker and weaker. My breathing slows down. Blackness starts creeping into my mind, as if drowning me. I push against it, try to fight it back. I open my eyes, but my sight is already blurred. My head is dizzy.

Eventually, my hands fall limply to my sides.

Alec's deep breathing is quite loud in my ear in the otherwise silent turret chamber — and still he sucks out my blood. Death is so close.

"I leave it to you to dispose of her body once you are finished, Alec." Aro's voice comes from far away. I don't hear them move, but the last time I focus on the room over Alec's shoulder, I see that it's empty.

Blackness finally fills my entire being, and I gratefully sink into its endless void.

There are voices. Sounds. Muted noise. Warmth strokes my cheeks. And it's bright, rather than endlessly black. I feel comfortable; there's softness around me. But I would also rather like to fall back into the everlasting darkness. There, at least, would be no pounding on my head, threatening to have my head explode.

I groan.

When I open my eyes, I look at a decent yellow ceiling. A beautiful lamp hangs down, the sunlight from the window throwing patterns onto its glass. I turn to look at my right. Soft curtains cover the window. It's open, and a breeze moves the curtains like they're dancing. I slowly work myself into a sitting position. It's harder than I thought; the bed is really soft.

"I'm glad you're awake."

My head swivels around so fast that I get dizzy, the pounding becoming louder. I grab my head and crunch my eyes shut for a moment. When the feeling of getting sick vanishes again, I carefully open my eyes and look at who had spoken.

It is Alec.

"Oh," is all I can say. Surely, I have died, and this now was Heaven? But why were They sending me an angel that looked like Alec?

"How are you feeling?" the angel asks softly.

"Um, I -" I try to take away my hands. The dizziness doesn't return. "Good, I suppose." My eyes wander around. "Where am I?"

The Alec-angel smiles. "A little hotel on the outskirts of Volterra." His eyes look me up and down, trying to decipher something. I feel helplessly exposed, but can't do anything to protect myself from his probing glances. "You're not dead, by the way. Sorry about what happened back there."

For a moment, I struggle to follow his words and thoughts. "I'm not?" He continues to look at me, then slowly shakes his head. "Oh," I make again. I take a deep breath. "What happened? I felt you ki— suck out my blood."

He smiles briefly. "You can use the word 'kill,' because that's what I nearly did." He closes his eyes and sighs. "Do you know the story of Romeo and Juliet?"

"Who doesn't? It's one of the world's most famous love stories and tragedies."

Alec nods. "Do you also remember what Juliet did to be reunited with Romeo?"

I have to think about that a bit longer, but finally I know what he means. "You mean the sleeping potion that lets Julia appear dead so that she gets brought into the family crypt?"

"Yes."

"What about it?"

He looks at me, raising his eyebrows, willing me to understand the implication.

Suddenly, it clicks. "You . . . gave me such a potion? They really exist?"

"Yes, I got such a 'potion' into your blood stream. And yes, they do exist. They're rare, but not impossible to get — if you know where to look."

I shake my head. "How? How did you — I mean, you were drinking my blood?"

He smiles humorlessly. "Yes, I drank your blood. But while drinking it, I also got the 'potion' — fusion, more like — into your system. I couldn't be sure, however, that it would really work. I had this one chance only." He looks up and glares at me. "Your stubbornness nearly cost you your life."

I try to glare back, but I blush under his fierce gaze and quickly avert my eyes. "I'm sorry."

"'I'm sorry' doesn't even cover it. You have no idea how close you were to be killed for real." He scoffs, running his hands through his hair, tousling it. "You're unnerving, you know that?"

I gulp down my anger. He saved my life. I should show some gratitude. "Why did you help me, then?" I query softly. "Why didn't you just let me . . . die, like the other people died?" He doesn't answer right away. "Is it because of Sarah?" I probe.

Her name really is the key. His head snaps up, his ruby eyes — red only because of my blood — meeting mine. "Yes."

"I still don't understand what I have to do with her."

A sad smile forms on his lips. "Nothing — and everything." He holds up a hand when I want to speak. "You see, when Jane and I were still human, mortal like you, we lived in a small village in England. There was a girl there, Sarah Goodman. We were close friends with each other. In the spring, shortly after our sixteenth birthday, Jane and I were accused of witchcraft. Back then, the punishment was to be burned on the stake." I gasp, feeling my facial expression morph into one of horror. "Sarah was directly involved, having gotten a taste of why we were accused."

"So you weren't accused for nothing?"

He smiles — I can't define it; it's a bit creepy. "No."

I gulp down the fear that creeps up in me. "What happened, then?"

Alec takes a deep breath. "They threw us in a hole for some time — I can't say for how long. I have no idea of how much time passed. When they got us out, we were dragged in front of a so-called proceeding's council. Sarah's father led it." Another humorless smile. "They convicted us. We spent the night out in the open, alone. The next day, we were brought to the stakes. I was additionally convicted of ensnaring helpless girls — Sarah — and had to watch my sister's punishment before receiving my own." He closes his eyes again. "I thought my life over, then. But Aro came and saved both Jane and me. We were hurt badly, Jane nearly dead. He changed us to vampires. Ever since then, we've been with him and his coven."

"How long —?"

"About 250 years."

"Wow, that's —" His gaze meets mine; it's hard. "I mean, 250 years is a long time," I finish lamely.

"Yes, it is."

Silence falls around us. "You said something about redemption . . ." I trail off, unsure of how to phrase it politely.

Alec seems to know what I mean. "Sarah — and all of the villagers — died while Jane and I were turned to vampires. But Sarah was _innocent_. She tried to talk sense into her father, to stop his so-called justice. He didn't listen to her, of course.

"When I then saw you, you reminded me of Sarah. You have the same eyes." He smiles in fondness, probably remembering a moment with her. "You were so innocent as a child, as Sarah was innocent. I couldn't have you be killed."

"So you asked Mom to not bring me onto the tour."

He nods. "I nearly tried to talk her out of going, too, but they would have had my head for that. So I had to sacrifice your mother to save you." He stood and wiped away my tears that started falling. "I'm sorry, but it was either she or both of you."

I don't want to say it, but I can't stop the accusation. "You said they would have had your head . . ."

"Yes, and I would have loved to give my life if I could have saved both you and your mother, Felicity, believe me. But Aro has means to seek out those that escape him. And what good would that have been, if all three of us had been killed?"

"None," I admit in a whisper. He nods. "Thank you, Alec, for all what you've done."

"Thank me once you're out of Volterra safely." He stands, swiftly. "I'll order a taxi. It will bring you back to your father. And don't worry about money. I got it all covered." He opens the door of the room. "You have about ten minutes to get dressed." And with that, he is gone.

I don't see Alec again. When I arrive at the hotel reception, the taxi driver is already waiting. He obviously knows who I am and where he has to transport me. While I climb into the cab's back seat, my gaze sweeps the shadowy alleys around the hotel, but he isn't there. Alec is gone, just like that. I would have liked to talk to him again, thank him once more. After all, he saved my life, twice.

"Ciao, my vampire angel," I breathe against the glass while the taxi driver gets us out of Volterra. Behind me, the ancient town sinks into night, the setting sun sending its last rays through the small street canyons.

* * *

As ever, let me know what you think, more so now that the story is complete. Did you see that end coming? Was the story totally boring? Only if you tell me what you thought it will help me improve on my next story.

Thanks for reading.


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